Gimme Everything You Got

by Iva-Marie Palmer

  “Don’t be,” she said. “It was a clean hit.”

  “I know, it’s a reflex,” I told her, then filched the ball and started kicking toward her goal.

  “Hey!” Arlene said, but she didn’t sound mad.

  “Not sorry!” I called.

  I wished I could hold on to the feeling when Bobby called us in from our scoreless scrimmage. But besides that brief look of approval he’d given when he saw us running at the beginning of practice, Bobby had shown no signs that he’d forgiven us.

  Finally, after a pause that stretched on for a long time, he said, “That was a great practice.” His smile suddenly appeared, the way a flower starts as a tight bud and blooms overnight. “You’re looking like a real team.”

  Twenty-Two

  The night of the Powell Park–Howard High football game, Marie invited us all to a party at her ex Jimmy Mortenson’s house. He was a St. Mark’s senior who was known around town because his family owned a car dealership. It had more prestige than Polly’s family’s car dealership in Elm Ridge, because it was bigger and advertised on channel 9. No one in Powell Park lived in mansions or anything, but the Mortensons’ house was on a corner lot and larger than most, even Tina’s. The basement had its own bathroom. (These were features deemed so impressive that I’d heard them talked about even though I’d never been there.)

  A few of us had been nervous about attending another party after Wisconsin, but Marie assured us that it was only to blow off steam after we’d been working so hard. “We don’t have a game tomorrow, and we won’t get out of control,” she promised.

  I was still reluctant. I’d sworn off parties. But I was also really curious to see the inside of the house, and I had nothing else to do.

  Powell Park lost the football game 47–23, or something like that. Some of the other girls went to the game, but I skipped, fearing some awkward introduction to Candace’s football girlfriends. After the game, we met up at Wojo’s, with a plan to walk over to the party. It was cold, but Marie had instructed us to wear skimpy clothes, so no one brought a jacket.

  The walk from Wojo’s was a few blocks, and as we got closer to Jimmy’s house, it was clear a party was going on because the street was filled with parked cars, and groups of people kept turning into the Mortensons’ front yard. The house was practically bursting at the seams, and shouting and music poured out of it; everyone knew cops never broke up this party. The Mortensons sold the force a lot of its Crown Victorias.

  “Jimmy always makes the basement door the main entry. That’s where the beer will be,” Marie said. “Going through the front door is for people who don’t know any better.” She led us up a side path to the backyard, where a set of concrete stairs led to a door at the house’s lowest level.

  “How very mole people of him,” Dawn said, as we waited on the steps with the other apparently in-the-know partygoers. Ahead of us in line, a group of guys wearing St. Rita’s jackets checked us out.

  “Stare much?” Arlene taunted them, but she looked pleased.

  When the crush of people finally squeezed through, it was our turn. As we walked inside, a stocky redheaded guy in a St. Mark’s jacket rammed into me with his shoulder. I opened my mouth to apologize, but then I clamped it shut. “You could say I’m sorry,” I said to him instead.

  “I could, but I won’t,” he shot back, guffawing with his friends. His face was next to mine as he spat a loogie on the sidewalk beyond me.

  “Fuck that guy,” Dawn said.

  “I would definitely rather not,” I said. “And would recommend others avoid it, too.”

  Jimmy was visible at the middle of the floor, holding court with a crew of girls around him. When Marie walked in, he seemed to forget the other girls as he winked at her.

  “Do you still like him?” Arlene said to Marie.

  “No, but I like to make him think I do,” Marie said plainly. “Let’s get a beer.”

  We made our way to the keg, weaving around people I didn’t know who must have been from Howard High. Marie stopped to say hi to Lynn, who was curled in the lap of Len Tenley, consoling him by planting little kisses on his nose while she ran a hand through his blond curls. He must have been taking the loss hard. Marie had every guy’s eyes on her as she bent down to whisper something to Lynn. Apparently, their friendship was in a better spot than mine and Candace’s, who I was nervous to see tonight.

  “Can you believe she’s the same girl who I’ve heard growling at me when she steals the ball?” Dana said.

  “Actually, yeah,” I said. I’d already thought about how we each hid ferocity under aspects of our so-called girliness, whether it was overt sexiness like Marie or quiet reticence like Franchesa. “I mean, you suck up to Assistant Principal Lawler like you’re Strawberry Shortcake or something, and I still have a bruise on my rib from your elbow.”

  As Marie passed out red cups, I glanced across the room, my eyes landing on Joe, talking to yet another new girl. I squinted at him. He hadn’t said anything about going to this party. Not that he had to tell me everything he was doing—it’s not like I’d mentioned the party to him—but I wasn’t expecting to see him.

  That’s when he spotted me and grinned, and my stomach lifted. What was going on with me?

  “Hooligans,” Joe said in our direction as he pulled his cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out in a nearby ashtray.

  I flipped him off. Tina jabbed my shoulder with her red fingernail. “Oh, your soccer teacher boyfriend is here?”

  I shook my head. “He’s not my boyfriend,” I said. “He’s with another girl.”

  “That’s why he’s looking at you like he won a new car,” Tina said.

  “I doubt it,” I said, and hid the smile that brought to my face. “He’s waiting for us to say hi.”

  Our cups filled, I led Tina over. “Hey,” I said. “Are we the hooligans?”

  “I haven’t met your friend, but you definitely fit the bill,” Joe said. We held eye contact in the crowded room; my heart thudded and my mouth tingled as Joe looked at my lips a split second too long. At least I thought he did. What Tina had said had clearly infected my mind.

  The girl next to him coughed lightly and he held out his hand, as if presenting her. “Oh, this is Jeannette.”

  “This is Tina,” I told him.

  He extended a hand to her. “You’re one of Susan’s best friends,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Tina offered him a big smile. “Yeah, except when she’s learning extra-secret soccer skills. She shared some moves, though, so I guess I owe you a thank-you.”

  “Well, you’re welcome,” Joe said, smirking at me.

  Jeannette wore a letterman’s jacket from St. Ann’s. “Do you play a sport?” I asked her.

  She nodded and said, “Swimming, basketball, and softball. I think we might be getting soccer next year, and then I’ll quit swimming. I prefer to be on land.”

  Joe laughed, like the remark was funnier than it was. Jeannette playing sports, and so many, made me size her up more carefully. She wasn’t as pretty as Joe’s first babe, or Lizzy—she looked more like a slightly taller version of me—but she struck me as more attractive than either of them because of the glint in her eye.

  “Maybe we’ll play you next year,” I said.

  Joe had turned to talk to a guy in the corner. Tina asked Jeannette, “How do you know Joe?”

  Jeannette grinned. “I don’t. I saw his band play in my cousin’s garage, and when I saw him at this party, I had to talk to him.”

  Tina shot a look at me. I knew what she was thinking: Jeannette had set her sights on Joe in a big way, and she was cute. But what was I supposed to do about it? The girl knew what she wanted, and Joe and I were just friends.

  “Joe’s been helping me with soccer,” I said, sounding more territorial than I planned to. Jeannette was about to say something when Joe cut in.

  “I taught her everything I know.” He pointed the edge of his cup at me and Tina. “Any news on mo
re games?”

  “No.” I sighed.

  Joe opened his mouth to speak, but then something over my shoulder caught his eye. I turned, and saw that the redheaded guy who’d knocked into me had just come back inside. Felt letters on the back of his jacket spelled “SOCCER.”

  “Fucking Ken,” he said. “I knew I shouldn’t have come to this party.”

  “That’s Ken?” I’d been expecting someone taller, with an Olympian build.

  “Who’s Ken?” Tina asked us both.

  “My nemesis,” Joe said. His eyes were like knives. “Don’t let him catch wind that you play soccer. He’s exactly the kind of asshole who’d give you hell for it.” He turned to Jeannette. “You wanna get some fresh air for a minute?”

  Jeanette beamed like she was getting a trophy in one of the three sports she played, and his smile ticked up at the side. No wonder he consistently found new girls to hang around. Or no wonder new girls found him. I had to admit, his lips were pretty sexy, or maybe it was the readiness of his smile that did it. No doubt he was going to engage in some habitual making out with Jeannette. I had to remind myself that I’d been the one who hadn’t wanted to kiss him. Still didn’t.

  Tina spun toward me once Joe and Jeanette were out of earshot. “So, you jealous of three-sport Jeanette?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know. He’s all wrong for me.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “We should probably see what everyone is doing,” I said, not wanting to get into this. Tina’s question and the basement’s heat pressed in on me.

  “Well, I see exactly what you’re doing,” Tina said as we dodged a burly Howard player with a beer in each hand. “You can’t avoid this whole Joe topic forever. The guy clearly likes you.”

  “Yes, that’s exactly why he’s probably feeling up Jeannette right now,” I said. “Just forget it.”

  Tina and I took the stairs up to the Mortensons’ living room. The walls were overwhelmed with photos of the family, with shots of Jimmy and his sister lining the stairs that led to the top floor. People were smoking and talking in the kitchen, and I wrinkled my nose when I saw Dan O’Keefe with Keith Barnes and Paul Mahoney. And ugh, George. He had his hand on Candace’s waist. A few girls I took to be the other football girlfriends were gathered with them all around a pretzel bowl, laughing. Candace had changed her hair. She now had bangs and had attempted to style them so they drew back from her face, but a few small hanks had fallen from the sideswept portion.

  “Candace looks like she’s having fun,” Tina said.

  “Yeah, maybe after a while you become immune to the garbage breath,” I said.

  “Let’s go say hi.” Tina took my arm and steered me through the party toward the counter.

  Candace’s face was flushed from whatever she was drinking, and it seemed to take her a second after seeing us to register who we were.

  “Hey, Candace,” Tina said.

  “Hey! What are you guys doing here?” she said. “I thought you had practice!”

  “At nine p.m.?” I said. “Marie brought us. She used to date Jimmy.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Candace said. “I never get to see you anymore.”

  Whose fault is that? I thought.

  “You changed your hair,” Tina said. “It’s cute.”

  “Yeah, I got it like Cheryl Ladd’s in Charlie’s Angels.” She pushed the wayward hairs back. “She’s George’s favorite.”

  “You’re my favorite.” He turned toward us. “Hey, Susan, Tina!”

  “How’s it going, George?” Tina said. I crinkled my nose. We didn’t have to be nice to George. His breath was better, I noticed, but he was the same.

  “We lost, but, you know, it happens. Hey, how’d your game end up going?”

  Tina gave him a greatly abridged version—no mention of the party or the hangovers. As they talked, George’s hand trailed down to Candace’s hip, and she tucked her head near his shoulder. She whispered something to him, then detached and stepped closer to me.

  “Can you believe we’re finally at the Powell Park–Howard party?” she whispered excitedly. Last year, Tina and I had slept over at Candace’s after the football game, contemplating crashing the party even though no one had told us about it.

  “Yeah, it’s cool,” I said. I drank down the last of my beer and took a bottle of Miller High Life from a six-pack on the counter. I’d said I wouldn’t drink much, but I needed something in my hands. Candace followed me over to the fridge, where I pulled down a Wisconsin Dells magnet with a bottle opener attached. I pried the cap from my beer and took a sip. As I swallowed it, I realized I was tipsy. I decided I’d just carry the beer until I could go home. “So, how do you console George after the team loses? Just a hand job, or do you go all the way?”

  Candace’s face crumpled from its bright expression, and I thought she might cry. “It’s not like that, Susan,” she said. “We haven’t gone that far yet. Don’t you think I’d tell you?”

  “You didn’t tell me about him in the first place. And he’s giving you hickeys and letting you wear his jacket; even a weirdo like George probably knows some moves to get in a girl’s pants.”

  Candace pushed her wayward bangs out of her eyes with a huff. “I don’t know why you’re being so rude, but if and when it’s time for George to get in my pants, it will be my decision.”

  “It was a joke,” I said.

  Candace shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. Grow up, Susan.” She retreated back toward the group, leaving me standing there like a jerk.

  I sulked off and sat at the top of the stairs to the second floor, a few steps above a guy who was sleeping on the staircase. I’d been there awhile when I felt a toe at my back. I craned my neck to see Marie and Lynn, arms linked and makeup fresh. “You’re not wasted, Susan, are you?”

  “No, just taking a break,” I said.

  “Come with us,” Marie said. She pointed to the sleeping guy, who’d sprawled closer to my feet. “Before he’s napping on your lap and you can’t escape.”

  I stood up and smiled weakly at Marie. Lynn Bandis reached out and fixed my hair before waggling her fingers at Marie and returning to Len’s lap. At the bottom of the staircase, I looked out at the living room, my eyes landing on Joe and Jeannette. His arm was tight around her waist and their bodies were pressed together as they kissed like two people trying to see how long they could go without oxygen. Maybe she could hold her breath extra long from all that swimming. He’d be on to the next girl before she came up for air, I thought, with a cruel satisfaction I wasn’t proud of.

  I wondered if he’d asked “May I?” before they’d started.

  Marie came up behind me and followed my gaze toward Joe. “Don’t stare,” she said. I hadn’t known I was staring.

  Then she pointed toward the middle of the room, where the furniture had been pushed aside for the party. Tina, Dana, Dawn, and Wendy formed a line facing Ken, the St. Mark’s goalie, and several of his teammates, clearly in some kind of confrontation.

  “What the fuck?” I said, and we took a few steps closer.

  “You chicks just want attention,” one of Ken’s teammates was saying. “And since none of you is cute enough to be a cheerleader, you had to go with soccer.”

  “Why does it bother you so much that we play?” Dawn said.

  “Yeah, you worried we’re going to win more games than you?” Tina added.

  “Pff, there’s a better chance I’d take one of you dogs to prom,” Ken said. He laughed, and so did his teammates. The laughter was worse than the things they were saying. I could see my teammates waver. My heart ratcheted up, like someone was kicking a ball against the inside of my chest.

  “We don’t care what you think of us,” Wendy said. “We can do whatever you can do.”

  Ken shook his head. “There’s no fucking way.”

  I hated Ken, standing there all proud in his stupid jacket, like he’d appointed himself the President of Soccer, deciding who play
ed and who didn’t.

  “Hey, Ken,” I yelled across the party, the ball in my chest thudding harder and faster so all I could hear was my own blood. Joe, who’d pulled away from Jeannette to watch the feud, turned his head toward me.

  “You talking to me?” Ken jutted out his chin. His buddies chuckled.

  “Yeah, I am.” I grabbed Marie’s wrist and pulled her into the crowd. We needed to take up as much room as we could to make what I was about to say work.

  I put my hands on my hips and stood with my legs apart, like Bobby’s coach pose when he wanted us to listen. I threw my shoulders back and got as close to Ken as I could without touching him. Even though my veins felt like they were overboiled spaghetti and my legs were unsteady, I must have looked like I knew what I was doing, because he backed up the slightest bit.

  I glanced toward the corner and caught Joe’s eye. His hands were still at Jeannette’s waist but his mouth was open in shock, like I was the shark in Jaws.

  “So what’s your point?” Ken asked.

  “If you’ve got a problem with us, why don’t we settle it on the field?” I felt fierce, saying it. Maybe girls would never feel comfortable designating a bathroom stall as unofficially conducive to masturbating, and maybe we’d never brazenly spit on the ground or grab our crotches, but it was thrilling to assert ourselves, to say loud and clear that we were competitors. It was a relief to suspend the parts of us that wanted to be liked for a while and the parts of us that apologized when we worried we wouldn’t be.

  “Susan,” Tina hissed.

  “No,” Wendy grumbled.

  I cocked my head back at them and, sticking out my chin, said, “What? We can play.”

  “She’s right,” Dawn said.

  Marie took a step forward so she was lined up with me. “Yeah, let’s play.” The whole team gathered next to and behind me, all of us staring down Ken. Mousy Franchesa, uptight Dana, surly Dawn, sexpot Marie, ambitious Tina, flaky Arlene, bitchy Wendy . . . everyone, all standing with me . . . average me. We were different from each other, even in ways that might clash, but maybe that’s what made us a team.